


Paradise Lost

by Telas_Selar



Category: Star Trek: Picard
Genre: Amputee main character, Angst, BAMF Cristóbal Rios, BAMF Laris, Bisexual Zhaban, Cristóbal Rios has PTSD, Demisexual Laris, F/M, Flashbacks, Fluff, Gay Hugh, Gay S'vec Sylar, Grumpy Jean-Luc Picard, Hallucinations, Hugh has PTSD, Hurt Hugh, Hurt S'vec Sylar, Implied Castration, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Implied/Referenced Forced Incest, Implied/Referenced Mental Conditioning, Implied/Referenced Non-Consenual Touching, Implied/Referenced Past Torture, Implied/Referenced Past Violence, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Near-Death Experience, POW S'vec Sylar, Pansexual Cristóbal Rios, Protective Dad Cristóbal Rios, Sleep Paralysis, Soft Laris, Sylar has PTSD, Syrios, Vulcan Affection, Vulcan Culture, Vulcan Kisses, Vulcan Language, Vulcan soulbonds, Zhaban and Picard are a collective disaster, Zhaban calls everything witchcraft, bittersweet fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:40:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24778528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Telas_Selar/pseuds/Telas_Selar
Summary: A newly-bonded Sylar reunites with Laris at Chateau Picard. Hugh struggles with his own demons and turns to Rios for help. Meanwhile, the Tal Shiar are stirring in the shadows.
Relationships: Cristóbal Rios/S'vec Sylar, Implied Past Narissa Rizzo/Narek Rizzo, Implied Past Narissa Rizzo/S'vec Sylar, Laris & S'vec Sylar, Laris/Zhaban (Star Trek)
Kudos: 10





	1. Chapter 1

_“Look at me.”_

_Sylar groaned, eyes wide open, chest heaving as he struggled to move anything at all, not even to blink. He was frozen in place, lips parted involuntarily, pupils constricted in fear as he observed the lithe figure hovering over him, the sharp edges of her nails lightly trailing across the scarred skin over his ribs. He wanted to cry out, to say something, anything, to warn the sleeping man beside him, but the words wouldn't come. He couldn't move a muscle._

_Narissa Rizzo's lips quirked up into a dangerous smile that chilled her prey to the bone as she came closer, close enough to press those lips to the indentation of Sylar's collarbone, almost lovingly._

_“Diamn hwoimne'liu staere” She mumbled against his skin. “Even after all we've done to you, you're still_ **_so_ ** _beautiful. I can see it now, why my father chose you. And I_ **_know_ ** _you'd have given me such a_ **_handsome_ ** _child.”_

_Ignoring the way Sylar strained uselessly against his paralysis, Narissa pulled away to climb on top of him, straddling his bare waist, fingertips sliding between his legs to the useless remains of what had once been so anatomically correct._

_“But I suppose we'll never know. I'll just have to make do with what we have,_ **_doctor_ ** _—”_ ****

“— Doctor?” Zhaban repeated more clearly, trying to pull Sylar out of whatever dark dreams he'd fallen into. “Can you hear me? Doctor Sylar-” One hand reached out to touch his shoulder, but another making contact with his own stopped him halfway. 

“The man is alright, Zhaban, leave him.” Picard's tone was sharp, but he had a point, even as the Vulcan blinked rapidly, trying to reorientate himself with his surroundings. He'd disassociated without meaning to, halfway through the ride to the vineyard, hunching over uncharacteristically in his seat before it all went black, and now he was here, lying on an unfamiliar couch without the faintest idea of where he was, and had Zhaban touched him, it might have made things slightly worse in his already unfocused mind, considering the events of the not-so-distant past. 

“I apologise, Admiral, sir” Sylar heard himself saying aloud, chest heaving slightly as he looked up, slowly. One minute they had gotten into some kind of vehicle and started the drive because the transporter had to be repaired, the next thing…the next thing he was somewhere else, indoors, with no memory of how he'd gotten there. “What happened to me?”

“You passed out, or so I'm told.”

A third voice, female, slight accent. Familiar, somehow. Sylar closed his eyes again, struggling to make it out, even as she continued to explain. 

“Your PTSD caused you to experience a blackout. It's either that or your complete and utter lack of dedication to taking care of yourself, as it’s always been.”

The edge to the woman's tone made Zhaban sigh fondly; he'd been on the receiving end of this kind of scolding multiple times himself. 

“Doctor” He said lightly. “This is-

“Laris.”

Sylar opened his eyes, recognition faintly stirring in them as he tried to sit up, ignoring the surprise that crossed both Zhaban and Picard's expressions.

“You know my partner?” Zhaban asked curiously, and Sylar nodded, swallowing hard as he continued his efforts. “Did the two of you-?” 

“Not like that, no” The younger Romulan woman sounded almost playfully amused at the implication. “I'm not his type. As in, not a man.”

There was a moment of silence before Laris reached out, offering a hand to Sylar, who was still struggling to maneuver himself into a sitting position. 

“Here. At the rate you're going, it'll be tomorrow morning before you get anything done.”

 _“Shaya tonat.”_ Sylar took her hand, allowing her to support his weight for long enough to make sure he wasn't on his back anymore. 

But that was the full extent of what his depleted strength allowed him to do, and he closed his eyes again, head tilted back, the jumbled memory of the dream - or rather nightmare - that he’d just had slowly creeping back to the forefront of his mind again. 

“I must speak with my Captain” He managed dully, although the words were spoken very dazedly. “Is there a communicator..I could borrow?”

“Communicator?” That wasn't a word that Jean-Luc Picard had heard in a long time. Not that he’d heard it very often, but coming from Sylar, a child of the 22nd century and a Starfleet officer from the 23rd...it made sense, although it was nearly two centuries out of place. The Admiral opened his mouth to mention this, but Laris shook her head; just once, but with purpose, before turning back to Sylar.

“I’ve already spoken with your Captain” She said softly. “Your orders are to rest, at least until he gets here, which won’t be for a while longer.” 

“I understand” The Vulcan said, but there was no rank, no formal title addressing Laris in his sentence, something highly unusual for him. What exactly was the nature of this bond? Zhaban wondered. The ease at which the two had been, the way they'd touched without panic on Sylar's end.. A strong friendship perhaps? The only question was _how_ it could be possible. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> “Diamn hwoimne'liu staere.” - "Always so perfect."  
> "Shaya tonat" - "Thank you."


	2. Chapter 2

_ How  _ was the question that continued to repeat itself in Zhaban’s mind, even after darkness had fallen outside and he’d officially excused himself from the room, but remained silent in the doorway, watching as his wife sat down with a dazed Sylar and poured him tea by candlelight. He asked her about an injury, and she obligingly rolled up her sleeve, showing him the jagged scar which Zhaban had always wondered about but never actually knew the cause of. That was when she switched to speaking Vulcan with ease, gently reinforcing it when Sylar tried to respond in Romulan, an automatic response due to his conditioning. And to Zhaban’s amazement, Sylar didn’t panic but obligingly responded in Vulcan with no blankness in his gaze at all, only a slight and clearly unrelated shakiness. He hadn’t taken that as an order. Laris smiled gently and offered him a familial Vulcan touch once she'd made certain he didn't feel threatened or vulnerable anymore. 

And - as a startled Zhaban watched - Sylar  _ returned _ it - touching his digits to hers still devoid of the blankness and the fear which he'd shown her husband. There was no wariness in his expression, only trust. Trust and something that could almost be described as  _ fondness _ , for a Vulcan without emotions. 

“Couldn’t sleep?” Asked someone softly, and the former agent turned to see Picard, now dressed more casually, arms folded over his chest, although there was a slight upwards quirk to his lips.

“Admiral” Zhaban frowned slightly, indicating the Romulan and the Vulcan sitting side by side on the couch. “What do you make of this?”

“Oh....I don’t know” Picard told him, although his slight smile widened. “But  _ whatever _ it is, I hardly think I’ve ever seen anything _ quite  _ like it. A former Tal Shiar agent and a Romulan prisoner of war exchanging a finger embrace? Never in all my years...”

“Do you think it’s genuine?”

“Well, I don’t see how it  _ couldn’t _ be. You’ve seen him activated; it looks nothing like that.”

“Witchcraft” Zhaban said, only half-joking, and the admiral chuckled. 

“Don’t let Laris hear you. Or the doctor for that matter.” 

“What are you two whispering about?” Laris asked, turning to face the two men in the doorway with a gentle yet somewhat amused expression.

“Nothing” Picard and Zhaban blurted out at the same time, making Sylar glance up with a slightly furrowed brow. Sharp Vulcan ears would usually have picked up the conversation, but he was still slightly out of it, even though at least an hour or two had passed since he’d first collapsed.

“Predictably us” He guessed, and Laris shook her head in mock disappointment. 

“Well now boys, that won’t do. Why don’t you sit down? There’s a lot I’m sure you’re dying to know.”

“Oh..no..I’m too old for gossip” The admiral protested.

“But clearly not old enough for eavesdropping” Laris countered, and Picard begrudgingly sat down, followed by Zhaban who made no comment at all about the way Sylar’s posture stiffened in his presence. Laris however, fixed this easily.

_ “Tra' nam-tor rai nan la'”  _ She told the Vulcan, and for the first time since Zhaban had met Sylar, Sylar relaxed visibly, the tension draining out of him.

“How did you do that?” Zhaban blurted out before he could stop himself, and his wife’s eyes sparkled.

“I asked nicely.” Laris was clearly amused by the confusion that Zhaban and Picard seemed to have concerning this whole situation, but decided not to tease much more than she already had. Instead, she picked up her teacup. “Admiral, you should know that I did comm Captain Rios earlier. He wanted to come here right away but I assured him his husband was alright. He’ll be here in the morning to pick him up.”

Her gaze flickered to Sylar, who had closed his eyes again, then back to the other two men. The Vulcan’s blackout was clearly a symptom of something bigger, as he’d refused to discuss the dream he’d been having, and Laris was concerned by how weak he appeared now, especially considering how much endurance he usually had. “In the meantime, ask away, I can see the questions practically dancing in your eyes, the both of you.”

Picard grunted noncommittally, but gave in when he caught Zhaban staring at him.

“Oh  _ alright”  _ He relented. “How did you first meet?”

Laris took a sip of her tea.

“Let’s just say I trusted the wrong man. Or woman, really. I was badly hurt, and I only knew one doctor on Vulcan. A young man who just wanted peace from his past...from the Tal Shiar...from everything really. He helped me, and never compromised my cover once.” The former agent’s gaze softened slightly. “He was afraid of me at first because he knew I wasn’t what I appeared to be but...then he started seizing and there was no one there to help him. No one cared, or even wanted to come close. Well, no one but me. I took care of him as he’d taken care of me. If you were wondering about the scar...in the early 23rd century, we didn’t have the technology we do now.” She held up her arm. “This was the best he could do for me then.”

“I still resent that I could not do more” Sylar muttered, catching the tail end of the statement as he drifted in and out of consciousness.

“You did enough” Laris assured him gently but firmly, turning back to her husband. “Zhaban, hand me that blanket.”

At this, Sylar opened his eyes, albeit with some difficulty. “I am alright - I do not - I do not require-”

Laris raised an eyebrow. “Maybe not, but it’s cold, and you’re a Vulcan. What excuse would I give your bondmate, exactly, if you ended up frozen half to death on our watch?”

Taking his silence as an answer, the former agent gently helped her companion shift his position again, back to the one he’d originally been in, (a position he’d never willingly assumed in Zhaban’s presence before, if at all) and draped the aforementioned blanket over him. And to both Zhaban and Picard’s surprise, Sylar did not protest, instead curling up under it in a manner that was almost catlike before he drifted off again, still uncharacteristically trusting. 

_ “Witchcraft” _ Zhaban said again, and this time Picard almost agreed with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> “Tra' nam-tor rai nan la'” - "There is no threat here."


	3. Chapter 3

Hugh hated the darkness. 

There was just too much his mind associated with the silent emptiness of a dark room, the somewhat minimal lighting that reminded him a bit too clearly of the Borg cube - no - the Artifact. It wasn't a Borg cube anymore and he wasn't of the Borg. He was an exB. 

Not that the term meant anything outside of the small circle of the people he'd worked so hard with his team to reclaim. Although to _certain individuals,_ it was amusing rather than liberating. He shivered now, tracing the scar at his throat where Narissa Rizzo's blade had sliced its way through, bringing him almost to the brink of death, if it hadn't been for Elnor's quick thinking. 

He owed a lot to Elnor. The young Romulan was light on his feet, and extremely strategic, even in the darkest of hours, and something about him just made warmth fill Hugh's chest, warmth he couldn't explain, of a kind that made tears sting his eyes until he stopped thinking about the other man. Geordi La Forge would have called it _love_ , but Hugh didn't quite know if that word was the right one, exactly. Elnor was so much younger than him, and he didn't exactly get butterflies in his stomach whenever he saw him. It was more of a deep sense of familiarity….In fact, the only thing which came even remotely close was the Vulcan word that Sylar had taught him, a word that conveyed a bond that was not that of brothers or lovers but something in between — _t'hy'la._ Still, it was most commonly used by lovers, whilst simultaneously being the Vulcan word for _friend_ which made it difficult for Hugh to adopt it as the definition he wanted. The definition that in his opinion, fit best. It was too distorted, too complex in nature. 

He traced his scar again and tried not to think of his dreams.

The exB hadn't gotten much undisturbed sleep lately, especially not with Narissa's brother aboard. Sure, Narek hadn't directly attacked Hugh or tortured him like he'd done Soji, and he'd definitely shown no _direct_ hostility, but he was still one of them. One of the Maelrok siblings, the last of them, now Narissa was dead. Somehow knowledge of her death did not seem to help Hugh very much, nor did it ease his mind. The flashbacks he experienced were constant regardless, and he hadn't stopped waking up drenched in cold sweat, the scar he'd chosen not to completely heal throbbing like a second pulse until he got up and forced himself to shower with cold water to distract him. 

Now as he lay on his bed in the quarters he'd been assigned, he realised that what he really missed was having something to do, someone to talk to. A while before Sylar had disembarked temporarily with Picard, the two had had a long and meaningful conversation, and Sylar had shown Hugh the small synthetic creature he'd found clinging to the hull of _La Sirena._ Seeing that small lifeform with all of its fascinating properties had warmed Hugh's heart, especially when he'd discovered its capacity for low level telepathy. But now the small creature was under observation and Hugh didn't want to get in Emil's way. Technically, he could strike up a conversation with Captain Rios, despite the fact that Hugh was older and likely had more experience) or Doctor Jurati (also far younger than him) or anyone else really, maybe even Elnor... 

“Can I come in?”

The exB glanced up, pulled quite suddenly from his reverie at the sight of a clearly sleep-deprived Cristóbal Rios in his doorway. 

“Of course” He said, getting up, gaze flickering over the Captain's exhausted form. “Are you alright?” 

_“Estoy bien”_ Rios assured him, before he sighed and shook his head. “It's complicated.”

For some reason, this made Hugh smile. The irony was too great to ignore. 

“Well, Captain” He quipped lightly. “If you're looking for more complications, then you've definitely come to the right place. How may I help you?” 

“You sound like one of the holograms” Rios commented, although it was almost fond in nature. “Or Sylar. Which isn't too surprising, you're similar enough.” 

Rios' brow furrowed and he wrapped his arms around himself, thoughts drifting, predictably, to his husband. Ever since he'd completed the ritual which had bound his and Sylar's minds permanently together, he'd felt somewhat overwhelmed, despite how well the Vulcan ordered his thoughts. And the events of the past few hours had been confusing; he'd gotten incoherent bursts of thought from Sylar, as well as the sense of something akin to a strange weakness. They were too far away for proper telepathy. Naturally, the combination of events and variants had caused Rios to become worried, and the explanatory comm from Picard's other Romulan guard slash housekeeper had hardly done much to ease his troubled mind, especially once he'd learned that she was someone from Sylar's past (still, Sylar's thoughts towards her were very clear to Rios, whoever she was, he trusted her) and so here he was now, irritated by how easily he'd been persuaded not to beam down using the only recently repaired transporter in the middle of the night, and guilty for invading Hugh's space like this. Not to mention tired but severely insomniac. 

Something must have shown in his face though, considering the way the aforementioned now offered him a cup of coffee. It was black - (was he that obvious?) and Hugh was having one too (with a pinch of sugar and cinnamon.)

Rios scanned the other man's face as he accepted the cup from him, and the underlying emotion behind the exB's gentle expression was a _lot_ of psychological exhaustion. Maybe the captain had it all wrong - maybe Hugh needed someone to talk to a lot more than he himself did. 

His gaze softened and he sat down on the edge of the man's bed, albeit not very comfortably, and gulped down the contents of his cup in one go, ignoring the way blood rushed to his head from this somewhat reckless action. 

“Talk to me. What's on your mind?” He asked, and for once, the tired, emotionally drained exB didn't say he was alright. 

He just started talking. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> “Estoy bien.” - "I'm fine."  
> 


	4. Chapter 4

“Are you going to tell me what happened down there?” Rios inquired as he watched a still-dazed Sylar comb his hair by muscle memory, trying to make himself look presentable again. 

“I suffered a minor setback” The Vulcan admitted, pulling on a fresh shirt while his bondmate unashamedly eyed his bare skin. “However, I have found that my closest friend, whom I had believed to be dead, remains alive and well today. It was… A somewhat bittersweet revelation, coupled with the events during which I found this out.” He turned back, dull eyes meeting the Captain's own for a moment before he reached out, holding up two fingers in a Vulcan kiss. “But I have missed you, _ashal-veh,_ more than I am capable of expressing.”

Rios returned the kiss, simultaneously leaning in to press his lips to the other man's forehead. 

“I know. I can feel it. But it doesn't matter; you're back now. How do you feel?”

Sylar's brow furrowed, making Rios smile against it. 

“I am not capable of emotion, sir.”

“I meant physically.”

“I have had better days. But... I have also had worse days.”

“You're impossible” The Captain complained, and he swore he could feel Sylar's lips twitching up as he countered his statement with one of his own. 

“That did not prevent you from marrying me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> "Ashal-veh" - "Darling/beloved" like "ashayam"


	5. Chapter 5

In the depths of a Federation penal colony, Narek Rizzo closed his eyes, resting his cheek against the cold wall of his cell. Ironically, as much as he hated being here, he could hardly find fault with the place. No Romulan prison could ever be this gentle, this forgiving. He wasn't sure whether to feel guilty or satisfied, whether either emotion made him a coward or not. 

And despite knowing exactly what twisted things his sister had done, both to him and…others…he  _ missed _ her. It was a disturbing thing, that he knew, but somehow Narissa always knew what to do, what to say. She'd always taken the lead - in more ways than one - a lead that Narek had followed, often unwaveringly. Now that she was gone, he was lost, in a world where he had no power, within the walls of a prison that stripped him of everything he knew. No one would talk to him, no one would even look at him, and he'd had no visitors since the crew of  _ Sirena _ had brought him before the Federation Court to stand trial. 

_ Well, until now.  _

There was a hooded figure on the other side of the forcefield that was containing him. 

Confused and somewhat wary, the Tal Shiar agent got to his feet, slowly, trying to make out who the figure was, but there were no defining features he could recognise. 

“Who are you?” He asked, deciding that coming too close was probably a bad idea if this was a trap (which it probably was, considering the circumstances.)

“A friend.”

The gender of the speaker was difficult to discern, but the way they spoke made Narek grow alert in a way he hadn't for quite some time now. There was something about that voice…something demanding. 

“I have no friends” He said aloud.“Or I wouldn't be here. Alone. Locked in a cell under the guard of the Federation.”

“There isn't much time” The figure cut in. “In fifteen seconds, this forcefield will be broken. You must run.”

“Run? Run where, exactly?” 

“The Tal Shiar have no use for an agent who cannot be resourceful when needed. You have thirteen seconds.”

And before Narek could stop the stranger from walking away, every alarm in the sector blared to life, just as the forcefield blinked out. 

He was free...but just  _ how _ exactly was the word  _ free _ defined? 


End file.
